Premonition - Genuine? Self-fulfilling Prophecy, or pure Bunkum?

Copyright © Mark R Kelly 2025

Hopefully by now, as you read this, you'll be familiar with the direction from which I come at you with my anecdotal accounts. Premonition, maybe? No, just teasing - but it is the topic for my today's post, and hopefully leave you with a morsel of food for thought.

Think of it as a peek behind a curtain of mystery previously ignored.

I'm going to give three different accounts - one and two definitely fall into the 'premonition' category, whilst the third is a bit, even to my mind, borderline. Once told, I think you'll understand why I feel it's validated in the telling.


Before moving forward, here is the definition, as offered by Google, as to what 'Premonition' is deemed as being:

pre·mo·ni·tion
noun \ˌprē-mə-ˈni-shən\

1. A presentiment of the future; a foreboding.

2. A warning in advance; a forewarning.

ACCOUNT #1 - PREMONITION, PURE and SIMPLE:

This one revolves around my first fiancée, and took place 12 - 18 months after we'd broken up and pursued our own lives, at the tender age of 19. For context - I had met Sarah aged 17, she was my first love, so everything was intensified and heightened to a level that only the combination of mid-teenage years and a first love experience can create (I can almost sense you nodding at this point).

We had this back-and-forth aspect to our ended relationship, which kept things off-kilter and a bit unpredictable, and I speak from my own personal perspective. For Sarah, I couldn't say. But there was still chemistry, that much was undeniable.

Sarah was getting on with her life, as was I. We'd gone through a little on-off dance of "Let's get back together" to "We should break up", on several occasions. Emotionally, I was feeling battered.

And one night I had the oddest dream - I was stood outside a Victorian era terraced house, and entered through the open front door. I then turned to my left, entering a bay-fronted front room, knocked through to the middle room in order to create one large space. I saw the fire place, the coving around the outer edge of the ceiling where it met the walls, I explored the entire location. I was even able to describe the carpet on the floor. And it was over. I gradually woke up.

It would have been a couple of days later I met Sarah - the reason now escapes me, due to time and fading memories of that period - and she was all happy. During the course of our conversation she reveals that she's now got herself a new flat in a nice area of Roath, near a place called Kimberly Gardens, on Kimberly Road.

And all matter-of-fact, I replied, "Yes, you've got the ground floor flat at the front of the house with bay windows..." and continued to describe the place I'd seen in my dream. Her face was a mix of amazement wrapped up in confusion.

Eventually she said, "How do you know all that? Have you been there?" Now she's looking slightly suspicious, still unable to work out how I'd describe the inside of her new flat perfectly.

Being the dick 19 year old, I couldn't help but smile slightly, shrug and say, "Lucky guess, maybe?" I could tell it had unnerved her, and I'm sad to say, part of me was pleased - not from being malicious, but because I'D SEEN IT! Premonition? Remote viewing? I think it's more the former than the latter. 

ACCOUNT#2 - PREMONITION SURPRISE.

A quick jump forward in time from that anecdote, to ten years ago (ish), and again, in a dream, I am approaching what looked like a large cargo container, painted white. It's night, and I can 'sense' there are buildings around me, but they are blurred, almost fog-like. I approach the container, and see one end is open. Light spills out, sterile, and bright.

I peer inside and see Sarah, sat at a table, arms folded in front of her, resting on the table, and her head resting on her arms. Hair cascading over her face, but instinctively I know it is her. I get the feeling she is worried, tired and is waiting. Like a voice whispering into my mind, I now recognise the cargo container as part of an Airport waiting area - dreams don't make sense at the best of times - and Sarah is waiting.

Without looking up, Sarah tells me she's waiting for her daughter to arrive on a flight as she is unwell, and Sarah is going to take her home. And that's all there is. End of dream.

I wake. I'm bothered. The dream was vivid, and I'm not happy about it. I contact my sister via text. She's lived with my 'odd experiences', so nothing surprises her any longer, plus I knew she was still in contact with Sarah via FaceBook. I explain the entire dream, and just ask her to make contact just to ensure Sarah is ok, but not tell her anything about my asking or the dream.

Later that day my sister texts back - Sarah's daughter had been taken ill whilst on holiday, and Sarah had driven to the airport to collect her and bring her home, adding it had been a long wait for the flight to arrive.

So, premonition after the fact?

ACCOUNT#3 - PREMONITION OR NOT?

This one takes place back in the early 2000's after I'd been newly married, was attending University as a Mature Student, studying Graphic Design.

Once more, another vivid dream: I see a car stuck on an outcrop of rock at a beach I don't recognise. The tide is out, and this car is balanced on this small island of stone. The car is a Ford Cortina, red in colour. For some reason I know there are the skeletal remains of a man in the boot, and as if by magic - as is the way of dreams - I'm able to see the skull and the thick brow development, a clear indicator of it being male. I see the number plate, and it's seared into my brain. I wake up. 

It's summer, the early morning sun is dazzling in our apartment living room, but this dream is gnawing at me, over and over. I end up writing the details, including the number plate. And still there is this gnawing, gnawing, gnawing at the back of my mind and rising out of it is the urge to inform the Police.

I pace around our flat, Feelings of uncertainty, embarrassment, hesitation and above all, insistence that I call them.

Finally I pick up the phone, punch in the district Police number. I keep licking my lips, foot tapping. They're going to think I'm mad - the urge to hang up is so very tempting, but I can't.

An official Police voice speaks and asks how they can direct my call. I can't believe what I'm about to tell them, but I hear myself saying, "This is going to sound really crazy, and it's not something I would normally do, but..." I proceed to explain, and also point out I've had premonition-like dreams in the past.

As I expect to hear chuckling, or dismissive remarks, the Officer says, "Hold the line."

If I'd been a cartoon character, my face would have been in disbelief, eyes like saucers and the word, "ERK!" appearing above my head.

Another voice speaks, and asks how they can help. I go through everything again, they take the details and say, "We'll call you back. Thank you."

I'm stunned. Gobsmacked, even. 

When the call comes, it gets even more bizarre - the Officer confirms a car of the make, model and colour and year had been reported stolen, and the number plate was one digit out. He asked if I recognised the location I'd 'seen', I apologised and said I didn't.

I heard nothing more about that after the call ended.

Premonition? Maybe? But the fact the Police didn't brush me off as a nutter, confirmed the details of the vehicle and asked if I knew more, actually taking me seriously, was a mind-blowing revelation.

It’s not something I claim to understand, but I’ve come to terms with it — and, in my own way, accepted it as part of who I am, for good or ill. I have no control over it, nor when it chooses to strike. As I write this, it’s been a long time since one of these episodes last surfaced. I’m not disappointed, nor am I happy. Just accepting.

Author’s Note:
For the record, every word of this happened — no embroidery, no dramatic license. These are simply moments from my life that never quite fit into the ordinary. Whether you call them premonitions, coincidences, or just quirks of the mind, I leave that to you. I only know they happened, and they’ve stayed with me ever since.

I'll leave you with a rather beautifully haunting piece, "Sleep Hills Of Vicodin Tears" - A Winged Victory for the Sullen.